Not Alone

 

I’ve been thinking about it for a few days,

And I’ve decided that

Part of the reason

There aren’t a lot of Thanksgiving songs

Is because Thanksgiving isn’t a liturgical season.

Thanksgiving isn’t part of the liturgical calendar at all

Because Thanksgiving is very much an American holiday

And the liturgical calendar is very much a world-wide thing.

 

Additionally,

Thanksgiving isn’t a money maker.

Though we’ve gotten very good at commercializing holidays,

Thanksgiving doesn’t really take hold because

There’s not a culturally accepted gimmick

And true Thanks-Giving can’t be monetized.

 

Furthermore,

Thanksgiving is only a one-day holiday.

Why write music about a one-day holiday?

 

And so,

The Thanksgiving music canon is small.

 

And yet,

Shouldn’t it, truly, be the biggest canon of all?

 

No.

Not songs about America’s bumpy and sometimes ugly past,

But songs about Thanks-giving,

Giving thanks,

Songs about gratefulness for

All that we have,

All that we are,

And all that we will be.

Not songs diminishing

Hurt, pain, heartache, and despair,

But songs that recognize that

Through it all,

There is reason to be thankful.

 

On this Thanksgiving Day,

Without many songs dedicated specifically to this day,

May we find songs that resonate with our hearts

And express whatever gratitude we can muster for

All that life brings.

The day will be hard for many—

Grieving loved ones,

Missing loved ones,

Feeling alone,

Being alone—

Yet we can remind those around us,

Through words and presence,

That they are not alone.

 

Which reminds me of a song.

 

Child you’re not alone in this world

And you never have to be.

No I will never forsake you

If you put your trust in me

Trust in the Lord with all your heart

And I will lead you through

When the storms rage

And the battles are fought

I am here with you.

 

Thanks be to God.

 

Amen.

Freshwater in Parched

 

Each year around Thanksgiving, 

I give my students the opportunity to make a word cloud of things that they appreciate about their teachers.

It’s always interesting how some classes are so very descriptive 

While other classes barely have anything to say. 

It’s also interesting that the kindergarten students 

Cannot distinguish between things about their teacher and things about their day. 

Feeling safe and loved by having structure and routine, 

Going to lunch, encore, and recess,

All of the things that teachers must do,

Equate to appreciation for the younger kids. 

 

In addition to the normal

Helps us learn, nice, and pretty that I often hear, 

A couple of highlights of this year’s word cloud making were when 

One student said that he appreciated his teacher simply because she was alive. 

He appreciated her for being a person and all that that means. 

Another student said that he appreciated his teacher for always being there.

And another student said that he appreciated his teacher for giving so much to teaching.

I thought those students were pretty perceptive.

 

On the flipside, I was taken back when I came to a student who said, 

“I don’t have anything to say because she’s always rude to me.”

Another student in that same class echoed the sentiment by saying,

“She doesn’t like me. She hates me actually.”

And a third student said the same thing. 

What made these statements worse is that the other kids in the class agreed.

Not that the teacher hated everyone, but that she didn’t like those three students and treated them poorly. 

 

I found that sad.

While, as a teacher, I know that there are certain students that we struggle with,

I also know that most of us don’t truly hate our students. 

They are kids. 

They are products of their parents and a very broken societal system. 

We don’t hate the kids. 

We hate the circumstances that make them act out. 

We hate that our hands are tied in discipline. 

We hate that we work so hard for so little respect. 

We hate that we give so much and get so little in return. 

Teachers carry a lot. 

And so sometimes, 

I fear, 

Kids misread our body language, tone of voice, and actions. 

At least that’s what I hope. 

 

I’m happy to report that each of those students did find something good to say about their teacher

Upon further reflection.

And I’m also happy to say that that teacher was just as happy reading her word art as everyone else.

It was neat, seeing teachers immediately read what their students said about them.

It was as if they were parched in a dry land, 

Needing freshwater to drink.

 

May we, as individuals, offer that freshwater freely,

And may we, as teachers,

Know our worth and value. 

May knowing our worth and value help us rise above 

All that we hate, 

And may our students know that they are loved for just being alive. 

Amen. 

Octopus

 Somehow,

And I’m not sure how,

I found out that one of my students, K, likes octopuses.

(This is the same student I wrote about a few weeks ago

Whose father died suddenly over the summer.)

Because I have a soft spot for said student,

I decided to give him an octopus book that I found in my classroom library.

 

I laid the book on my desk so that K would see it when he walked in.

He lit up the moment he did.

“A book on octopus!” he said.

“Did you know I like octopus?” he inquired.

“Yes,” I responded.

“How did you know I liked octopus?” he questioned.
“I just did,” I responded.

And then he opened the book and began to draw a shell from its pages.

 

About 15 minutes later,

Out of the blue, K said,
“Wait. Who is giving me this book?”

I said, “I am.”

He said, “You are?!”

“THANK YOU!

THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH.”

Then he came around my desk,

And gave me a huge hug.

“Thank you,” he said again.

“You’re welcome,” I said, smiling.

 

There are a lot of difficult, hard things happening in this world,

And thanks to the media,

We seem to know all about them,

All at once.

Quite honestly, it’s overwhelming.

But in the midst of all that’s bad,

There is still so much good.

There is still so much right.

 

May we be a people who try to hold to what is good and right,

Who smile at the simplicity of 1^st grader’s exclamation of their love for octopus,

And who take heart in the genuine sincerity of a child who has lost so much in his short life,

But who is determined to truly live nonetheless.

Amen. 

Grapes from South America

He said: “As we sit down at the table, We have grapes from South America, And celery and carrots and cucumbers from some somewhere, And chicken that hatched from an egg that someone had to make sure hatched and grew to maturity, And potato salad from potatoes that had to be grown and harvested, And biscuits from wheat…” I thought: Grapes from South America? What in the world is he talking about? I thought he was going to say the blessing. He continued, as if reading my mind: “I just think it’s important that we don’t take for granted all of the work that had to occur to get our meal onto the table— All of the people who labored to make this possible— People we will never know and see.” I thought: Oh. Yes. Labor Day. It’s Labor Day Weekend. We should be grateful. He prayed: “Dear God, Thank you for this food. Amen.” I haven’t looked at anything since that prayer And not thought of all of the hands, Mostly unknown, Forever anonymous, That went into growing, harvesting, designing, making, and/or producing it. May we be a grateful people today, For all things great and small, For the hands and lives that make our lives possible, For the labors that keep the world turning, Today and every day. Amen.

Light Bearers and Torch Snuffers

I went to school to de-personalize my room today. It was kind of depressing—packing up all of the things that make the room comfortable. And it was kind of confusing—trying to figure out what was essential vs. non-essential. I never did figure out the stapler and staple remover. After “work,” I took a load to the thrift store and went to the grocery store. I am the primary errand runner in the family now. I don’t like my mom and dad going out because, well, Covid. When I got home, I was tired and feeling a little…sad. But I had mail! My spirits lifted a bit. Then I opened my mail and my spirits lifted a lot. “Dear Deanna, Enclosed is a small gift from Trinity’s love fund, for each of the teachers affiliated with Trinity. We want to offer our support during this difficult time. Please use this however you see fit. I pray for God’s peace and guidance for you and your loved ones. In Christ, Pastor Ann” Wow. Just. Wow. A simple gesture, but one that means the world to me— A teacher, Thought of, prayed for, and supported because of the work I do, Will do, In a crazy and uncertain world. God, on days that are dreary—literally and figuratively— Thank you for rays of light—tangible and emotional— That brighten the world. Help us to be light-bearers rather than torch snuffers. Always. Amen.

Happy Whatever-fraction-it-is Birthday

Today is one of my friend’s birthdays. It’s another’s half birthday. And it’s yet another’s 2/3 birthday.

Don’t ask me why I do this, because I don’t know, but I wish two of these friends a happy whatever-fraction-it-is birthday every 27th of the month.

I always get excited when I realize it’s the 27th. I find myself calculating and reducing fractions, usually first thing in the morning, and sending happy whatever-fraction-it-is birthday to my friends. They always smile and say thank you in response. Sometimes we chat for a few minutes. Sometimes they write me on my whatever-fraction-it-is birthday, and I smile and thank them in return. It’s a nice little exchange. And it’s something so very, very simple…

I’ve been doing okay with thoughts of returning to school. Even though mostly everything is uncertain—including what I’ll be teaching and in what space I’ll be teaching it—I’ve been practicing being present in these moments rather than letting the uncertainty take control of me. But this morning, while texting a friend, I broke down and cried at the overwhelming nature of it all.

And then I remembered that it’s the 27th. I smiled. It’s a friend’s birthday. It’s another friend’s half birthday. It’s another friend’s 2/3 birthday. There is reason for celebration today.

Don’t worry. I didn’t deny my tears. I let them flow until they were ready to stop. I fully felt the angst that I was feeling. But then I tried to do what scripture asks us to do: “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” (1 Thessalonians 5:18)

Friends: May you find reason to celebrate today. And may you start wishing your people happy whatever-fraction-it-is birthday. Everyone needs to know that they are cause for celebration at different points throughout the year…because sometimes, a lot of times, the people in our lives are the biggest reasons we have to give thanks. Give thanks today, friends. Amen. And amen.

Steady and Calm

If you’ve ever played Jenga, then you know that you need a calm, thoughtful approach and a gentle, steady hand if you want to succeed in removing a block. You also know that you need to be careful which block you choose lest the entire tower come crashing down…

This Thanksgiving, as you step away from your classrooms and jobs for a few days, may you find the rest and spirit of thanksgiving that you need in order to face the busyness of the holiday season with a calm, thoughtful approach and a gentle, steady hand.

We Are Thankful

My 5th graders got into an argument this morning. The big debate was over whether God and Jesus were the same or different persons. Sometimes, I let students solve their own debates. Sometimes I intervene. Today, after a solid minute of debate, I intervened. I explained that in the Christian tradition, God is three parts: God the Father, or Creator; God the Son, or Jesus; and God the Holy Spirit, the part of God that is with us today. So. Yes. Both sides of the argument are correct. God and Jesus, in the Christian tradition, are both the same and different persons all at once.

And just why were we having a very abstract and difficult to understand theological discussion in 5th grade music class? Because we were talking about things and people for which we are thankful. One boy said that he was thankful for Jesus Christ because he died on the cross for our sins. Another boy said God. Another boy said God and Jesus. And there the debate began…

In less abstract and complicated answers, many of my students have said that they are thankful for: friends and family; food and water; shelter; clothes; life; and the ability to come to school to learn. One boy said that he was thankful for the time that he got to spend with his grandfather before he passed away. And another boy said that he was thankful for music. I almost cried at those two…

What about you, friend? What people and things are you thankful for this Thanksgiving Season?
And when was the last time you had to explain the sometimes difficult and abstract parts of your faith?

Dear God: Thank you. Thank you for being beyond human comprehension but still giving us the drive to seek and try to understand—even as children. Help us always to be grateful, especially this holiday season. It’s in your Name I pray—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. Amen.

Corridor of Daggers

One of my friends has erased her finger prints by using so much hand sanitizer over the years. After being sick for the past few days, I’d gladly erase my own finger prints by way of hand sanitizer if it’d keep me from feeling like this again.

Maybe my tolerance for pain has lessened as I’ve gotten older, but I declare that I was absolutely miserable and felt a little like death at the height of this little bug on Thursday night.

It started Wednesday night with a sore throat. I jolted myself awake in the wee hours of Thursday morning and spent around ten minutes talking myself down from a panic attack of being sick, alone, and not able to breath. I woke up Thursday morning not feeling great, but I got up and got dressed because missing work is discouraged. The closer it came to leaving time, the more certain I felt that I really didn’t feel well, so I made the decision to stay home. I sent all appropriate messages and then went back to sleep.

When I woke up, I felt worse. And as the day progressed, I continued to feel worse. From no fever to a baby fever to a fever of 102; from a nauseous stomach to one that couldn’t keep anything down; from a sore throat to a sorer throat…I was not in good shape.

Different people had different ways to know that I was really sick: My mom knew that something was really wrong when I didn’t leave the house to volunteer for Harnett Off-Broadway; I almost always volunteer for my non-HOB nights. And my dad knew that something was really wrong when I didn’t have enough energy to let Bullet off the porch.

When I wrote Olga-Bullet’s-Real-Mom to ask her to take care of Bullet, she asked if I needed anything. In my fever-induced drunkenness, I asked for Gatorade and Ibuprofen. Sometime later, after a mystery Adam Sandler movie, during Home Alone 2, both of which I only saw bits and pieces because of said fever-induced drunkenness, Olga knocked on the door and delivered Gatorade, Ibuprofen, and raspberries for tea. She wanted to help her neighbor, and she did helped her neighbor indeed.

My fever broke sometime during the night that night. I was up and down all night—hot, cold, sweating, freezing, trying to swallow through what felt like a corridor of daggers. A good friend brought Lysol to the house on Friday so that I could disinfect my sick living quarters. I spent Friday resting. I spent Saturday resting—although I did move my resting position to the movie theatre to see Beauty and The Beast (which was very good) and then to Urgent Care to receive a negative strep throat diagnosis but medicine anyway because my throat looked so bad. I had to work yesterday, but every moment not working was resting. I had to work today, and go to class tonight, but in between I took a nap.

My throat is still very sore. The corridor of white daggers still there. For now I have all fingerprints. But if sanitizing my hands to avoid walking this corridor again is what I need to do, then I will be a glad sanitizer, disappearing fingerprints and all.

Snowy Sabbath

I like church. Really, I do. Please hear that. I like joining together with my community of believers and worshipping with the choir, praise team, and wider congregation. As messed up as the church can be, I like doing more through the church than I can do alone. I like church. I believe in the church. But I declare that sometimes it’s nice to have a day off from church.

I accidently woke up early yesterday. I think my body thought it was a school day. I saw that it was snowing outside but I left my alarm set for church and went back to sleep. A little while later, I woke up to the sound of the phone ringing and then to pots and pans being put up. In a state of semi-consciousness, I listened to the sounds of the kitchen and mused about how productive my parents were being so early in the morning. Then I looked at the clock. It was 9:15. My parents should have been leaving for church. At that point I literally said aloud, “Something is weird here.”

On the next multiple of five (I only get up on multiples of 5), I popped out of bed and went downstairs. When I saw my dad in his pajamas, I knew: Church had been cancelled. I asked anyway: “Was church cancelled?!” When he said yes, I cheered. I literally cheered. I clapped. I jumped up and down. Then I ran into my parents’ bedroom where my mom was working at her computer and I hugged her. As I squeezed her and rejoiced, she said, “You’re not supposed to be this happy about missing church.” Then she smiled at my excitement. Then I ran back into the kitchen, arms fully extended for a hug, and threw my arms around my dad and said, “Thank you so much” (although I knew that the decision was not completely his). Then I jumped up and down and clapped some more. Then I cried.

I was so happy and relieved to have a day off that I couldn’t hold back the tears. Then I volunteered to cook breakfast so that mom and dad could prepare for their visit to see my grandmother.

Last week was extremely busy. Six days of early mornings and very late nights with no down time in between takes its toll on an almost-40-year-old. This week will be mostly the same, just without the stress of preparing for Harnett Off-Broadway. Yesterday was supposed to be another work day. But with the blessing of the snow, the day ended up being a day off. It was rest for the weary. It was true Sabbath. And it happened because I didn’t have to go to church.

Swirly, dancing white
Calm silence nourishing souls
Peaceful rest, Sabbath

I like church. Really, I do. Please hear that. But I declare that sometimes it’s nice to have a day off.

God, thanks for a day off yesterday. Amen.

Communicate Love

“You all are a whole lot more stressed than I am. Then again, I have the plan in my head and you don’t.”

I heard those words come out of my mouth at the exact moment I saw the word OVERCOMMUNICATE flash before my eyes. Just before going to church to lead the music at a missions celebration, I had read a paragraph about the importance of communication in leadership.

There I was, the music minister, trying to get the choir ready to sing, yet I hadn’t even communicated with my mom, the accompanist, about the exact order of songs that we were going to sing.

And why hadn’t I done this? Because I hadn’t even communicated the final decision to myself.

I have a lot of blank books. I’m afraid to write in them. I don’t want to mess up the pages.

For years, I wouldn’t write down my lesson plans until after I’d taught them. I was afraid that my plan would go wrong.

When I was doing a lot of concerts, I often started the concerts without having a set playlist. I had an idea. But I was afraid I’d have a new idea mid-concert and then feel stuck.

I like to have a plan. But I like to be able to change the plan to fit the exact moment that it is executed.

Which…isn’t always good when working with a group.

The statement that I made at the beginning of this post was very true. My choir was stressed about what they were getting ready to do, but I wasn’t worried. I knew that they could—and would—sing well and sing the right songs at the right time—but they didn’t know it because I hadn’t communicated it to them. I had told them bits of pieces of information—each of which escaped my mouth as a plan entered my brain—but the plan hadn’t come together in their minds.

So…I started at the beginning, went step by step, laid out the plan, got everyone on the “same sheet of music” (literally), prayed, and then we went into the sanctuary and sang as well as we’d ever sung.

Lest I not communicate this properly: I am proud of my choir. I am proud to work with my choir. I believe in my choir. And I never doubt my choir—even when they doubt themselves.

I will work on my communication skills both at church and school. I will work to be a better professional leader. But I think I’ll also work to be a better communicator of appreciation, thanksgiving, and kindness. I hope you’ll join me. And I hope that together we’ll over-communicate love.

"You Made Me Feel Safe"

We do a writing/art challenge each week at Johnsonville. It’s normal for some challenges to be more popular than others, but last week’s challenge took the prize for most popular challenge ever. The challenge? “If you were a super hero, then what would your super hero name be and what super hero powers would you have? You can also make yourself a villain.” The three most memorable were Super Cheetoh (who turned bad guys into cheetohs so that they could be eaten), Puzzel Master (who is able to easily solve puzzles), and Rotten Tooth Man (who punishes people by making their teeth rot).

We had so many entries last week that I was still sorting through them this week! As such, I didn’t create a normal challenge of the week. Instead, I challenged students to write a thank you note to one of their favorite teachers as an extension of last week’s Teacher Appreciation Week.
My part in the challenge was to sort, compile, and deliver the notes to teachers.

As I was beginning my part today, I found myself smiling quite a bit. It always makes me chuckle to read what goes on inside kids’ minds. But then I came to a note that made me come to a screeching teary-eyed halt. The note very simply said, “In Kindergarten, you made me feel safe…You will always be my favorite teacher.”

When I think of my favorite teacher—my Junior English teacher—I think of a teacher who made me feel safe. At that point in life, I had just moved from the city where I’d grown up and my whole world had turned upside down. In the midst of it all, through her calm, steady presence, my English teacher made me feel safe. And she encouraged me to write. And writing gave me a safe place. For that, I will always be grateful.

What about you? Who was (or is) your favorite teacher? Did he/she made you feel safe? And teachers, are you creating a safe place for your students? Friends: this is your writing challenge of the week! Share your answers here.

I'm Ready Now

If you would have walked into the Fellowship Hall around 7:45am yesterday, then you may have wanted to turn and leave. The praise team was getting ready for the early service and we were sounding and looking rough after a little break. After I hit the ceiling with the guitar while picking it up for the first time, I popped my left hand in a painful way while changing chords on the first song. During a perfectly natural, “Ouch I just hurt my hand” hand-shaking-out motion, my ring flew off my finger and my pick fell on the floor. Neither me nor my keys-player could remember what key we were supposed to play our songs in and my keys-player didn’t remember that he was supposed to have his keyboard set to a trumpet sound on one of the songs. Our vocalist was doing fine until I tried to break into harmony and then she went into the harmony part with me, leaving no melody to be heard. At this point, all three of us of us just stopped and laughed because there wasn’t much else to do.

Before calling the rehearsal quits, though, we decided to run our last song. We’d introduced it as a special music two weeks before and had scheduled to follow-up with it as a congregational song yesterday.

“I just let go and I feel exposed, but it’s so beautiful—cause this is who I am,” we sang. “I've been such a mess, but now I can't care less—in you I rest.”

As we sang, the silliness quietly turned serious, and I found myself singing from a place I hadn’t sung in quite awhile.

“I was so caught up in who I'm not. Can you please forgive me?”

Tears began to fill my eyes—as they are filling them as I write this tonight.

“I've nothing left to hide—no reasons left to lie. Give me another chance.”

Tears began falling from my eyes as we continued to sing:

“Lord I'm ready now, all the walls are down, time is running out, and I want to make this count.
I ran away from you and did what I wanted to, but I don't want to let you down. Oh Lord I'm ready now. Lord I'm ready now.”

When we finished the song, my goofy little praise team and I shared a powerful moment of silence during which all three of us recognized God’s presence in the room.

God truly is amazing, you know? In the middle of what was a purely unintentional not-so-spiritual time of worship preparation, God made God’s presence known in a way that I did not expect. As I spontaneously poured out my heart and released what I think may have been the final bit of residual hurt from a cut-off that had cut me to the core, I knew that God was listening, that God was forgiving me—and that God was giving me another chance—daily giving me another chance.

God does the same for you, too, friends—for all of us. Listens, forgives, and daily gives second chances.

And you want to know something interesting? We didn’t even end up singing that song in worship. The guest preacher, my dad, ended his sermon in a way that absolutely did not lead into the feel and message of the song. He ended on a high note of praise. We decided to, as well.

“My heart is filled with thankfulness
To Him who walks beside
Who floods my weaknesses and strengths
And causes fear to fly
Whose every promise is enough
For every step I take
Sustaining me with arms of love
And crowning me with grace”

Amen.

A Big Little Reminder

Last week, I had a parent come to me and share that she and her daughter were moving.
The parent’s main concern was that they might be leaving before this year’s field trip to the NC Symphony.
She said, “All my daughter has been talking about for the past six weeks has been this trip to the symphony. She comes home every week talking about all of the things that she’s learning in music class and how excited she is about the field trip.”
Inwardly shocked by what the mom had just told me, I outwardly carried on a conversation that ultimately led to the student remaining enrolled at my school through yesterday’s field trip.

Now…I suppose that it’s every teacher’s goal to actually teach her students some things.
And while I work really hard to teach my students to understand and experience music
and while I work even harder to help my students understand that music is not an isolated subject but a subject connected to every other
and while I work even harder to let my students know that they are safe with me and that they are loved,
I must confess that I didn’t really think that my students were actually learning anything—
That they might actually be going home and telling their parents about music class—
That I might actually be accomplishing my goals.
Even when I see progress—
Even when I give an assessment that clearly shows that musical knowledge has grown—
I still didn’t necessarily believe that my students were actually learning beyond my hut.

Until last week’s conversation.

While talking to that parent,
I felt as if an educational angel were shining a light upon me and confirming that I’m doing the work that I need to be doing right now—
Not just because I know that I’m doing more ministry now than when I was in full-time ministry—
But because I’m helping ignite a spark for learning in my students—
Because I’m helping “inspire” them, which is exactly what a student said after yesterday’s concert.

I don’t know about you, friends, but I think that every once in awhile each of us needs to be reminded that our lives are making a difference.
Consider this your reminder tonight.
No matter who we are. Where we come from. What we look like. How well we perform.
Each of our lives makes a difference to someone somewhere somehow.
Even when we don’t really believe it.
purp

God's Kindness To Us

I learned something today: Minneapolis, NC, is also known as Dog Run. This makes sense…because there are a lot of dogs roaming free up here—yet they’re all very friendly and the way the kids respond to them makes me even more passionate about figuring out a way to get a therapy dog to school.

For those of you who don’t know, I have been leading worship for First Baptist Aberdeen’s children’s camp for the past nine years. A mutual friend from divinity school introduced the children’s minister and me and the partnership that was formed between us has been wonderful. The camp is held at Candlestick Retreat Center in Minneapolis, NC, and each year is like a one week family reunion with the chaperones and kids that I’ve grown to love. I’ve even watched some of the kids grow up to be on the staff and crew.

It’s interesting to see how each year’s group is different. Last year’s group was very into relationships and the girls spent a lot of time primping. This year’s group is very into being kids—running around and playing—going head over heels over the dogs and rabbits and any other animal they see. Personally, I have enjoyed this year’s group better.

Since the kids have expressed such a deep interest in animals, I decided to share an animal story with them at campfire worship tonight. I’ve been reading a series of books that contain stories of unlikely animal interactions. In one of the books, Unlikely Heroes, there is a story about a llama named Little Man who put himself between a herd of sheep and the fire that was consuming their barn in an effort to save them. Because of the injuries he sustained, Little Man soon died. He sacrificed his life to save thirty others.

Naturally, I made a connection between Little Man’s sacrifice and Jesus, so I did something I don’t normally do and focused tonight’s message on Jesus’s sacrifice for us—to save us—not just from hell—but from the chains of every day darkness and fear.

Here’s what super cool, though. Today’s Bible study was on kindness. I had a scripture passage about kindness in mind to share early in the tonight’s worship service, but I couldn’t find it. So I looked in the concordance. After looking in the concordance, I was led to a passage that I’d never fully paid attention to…and it was perfect for tonight…because tonight was not only the story of Jesus’ sacrifice for us but also the wrap-up of a week about being available (using our gifts for God), dependable (being someone that others can count on), honorable (living a righteous life), and kind, and in so doing living lives of spiritual acts of worship:

And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus. For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this was not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared for us to do.

I love Candlestick. I love how every year is something different yet wonderfully the same. God is here. In the old school building that houses the retreat center. In the river that runs by it. In the laughter and wisdom of children. In the steady presence and love of the adults. In the Bible studies and in worship. And in how God never fails to show me the exact songs and words that need to be shared.

I am always sad when Candlestick ends, but I always rejoice in the beauty of the week. This week has been good. And God’s kindness through Christ has been shown. And we are God’s handiwork surrounded by God’s glory. Thanks to be God. Amen.

If I Were Independently Wealthy

Yesterday during Nana Camp 2015’s afternoon of water games—after the sprinkler, water pistols, and water balloons—my across-the-street neighbor came over and asked if the kids and I wanted to go swimming in their pool. Naturally, we accepted the invitation.

As the kids swam and floated and played water-basketball, I talked with my neighbors and discussed life and ministry and how there are usually lots of people at their house. My neighbors commented that when they built the pool, they built it so that people would use it. They wanted their blessings to bless others. I commented that if I had a pool, then I would want the same.

Yesterday’s conversation caused my “What would I do if I were independently wealthy?” dream-list to resurface. I’m not even 100% sure that having a pool is on that list, yet if it were then I would definitely invite friends, family, and church members to use the pool frequently.

Here are the things that are definitely on my “What would I do if I were independently wealthy” list. There are others on the maybe list:

• Purchase a beach house (ocean-side), mountain house (next to a stream or waterfall), and lake house (lake-side) to be used as a retreat for ministers and their families, church women’s groups, and small-group school faculty/staff retreats when my family and friends aren’t using it. Include hot tubs, hammocks, swings, rocking chairs, rafts, kayaks, paddle boards, noodles, and all other necessary retreat equipment. Also include living space for permanent caretakers to tend the properties.

• Retire. Continue working part-time at a church or some type of ministry organization and volunteer as a chaplain in the public schools. I have no idea how the latter would happen; I have found no precedent for it. But it is my heart and passion, and I would do it in a heartbeat if I didn’t have to worry about “making a living.” I would most likely do more units of CPE or a residency while making this happen.

• Do something for my family members. I haven’t decided exactly what. Open savings accounts, travel, go on more cruises, pay off cars, homes, and/or college bills are ideas that I have thrown around.

• Visit major zoos and conservation centers around the world. Guests are encouraged and welcomed.

• Establish a scholarship fund. Or two. Or three. Or five.

• Give. A lot.

What about you, friends? What things are on your “What would I do if I were independently wealthy?” list. It may not ever happen, but it certainly doesn’t hurt to dream…and then go swimming.

Just Another Manic Monday

Mom: Dee, you need to go get your father.
Me: Now?
Mom: Yes. He’s at the car place. It seems as if your car wouldn’t start when he tried to start it this morning, so he went to the Napa place to get something to jump your battery. But he didn’t put your car in park when he left, so it rolled down the driveway by itself but it stopped just short of the ditch. And he set off the alarm.
Me: Umm. Okay…

Such was the beginning of my Monday. My dad’s plan was to take my car to a local mechanic to have it checked out. The check engine light had come on Saturday. Along the way, he had the above eventful episode. I slept through it all. And then I chuckled in horrific amusement when I heard what had happened. (Dad blames all of the “junk” around my gear shift for his not putting the car in park). And finally I chuckled in not-surprised amusement after the mechanic told me that my car was fixed but the check engine light came right back on while I was driving home. Thankfully, I won’t be doing my normal amount of driving over Christmas break. It sounds like my car needs a 273,454 mile break and then a specialist’s visit to follow.

While my car was at the local mechanic’s shop today, I enjoyed a dreary day at home. Because wrapping presents is close to the top of my list of things I most dislike to do, I had a productive day in my living quarters—doing many of the things that I’ve needed to do for months but not made time for—sorting junk mail, filing papers, writing notes, finding things lost. Procrastination is often a useful tool in cleaning; it just doesn’t help with the present wrapping. NCIS marathons are also useful for cleaning; and I hope that they will be useful for present wrapping after I finish this note tonight.

Speaking of presents…On my way to get my dad from the mechanic’s shop this morning, I saw that Percy-the-Dog’s family had put two cans of soda and one tin of cookies on top of their trashcan. At first, I thought, “That’s a weird place to leave trash.” Then I realized, “That’s not trash. They left a Christmas gift for the trash-men. What a great idea. What a loving idea. Maybe people should do that more often.” When I got home from retrieving my dad, I worked with both of my parents to become copycats and leave a small present for our trash-men.

When I went to pick up my car from the local mechanic, I saw a bag of sausage balls, a cheese tray, and some other finger foods that tend to show up at appreciation luncheons or celebrations. I thought to myself, “Someone wants her mechanic to know that he is appreciated.”

I don’t know about you, but I’d gag on a daily basis if I were a sanitation worker and my car would be very dead if I were left to do its repairs…therefore, I am genuinely grateful for sanitation workers and the work they do to keep our towns and streets clean and I am genuinely grateful for mechanics and the work they do to keep our transportation vehicles running. And yet, I rarely say thank you. Maybe I should say thank you more often…and not just on manic Mondays around Christmas.

Just Two Haiku-like Thoughts About Working In The Helping Professions

One
This challenging thing:
More than a job. Jobs pay bills.
Service changes lives.

Two
This important work:
Not by choice alone. Call leads.
Mustard seed of faith.

------

If you have dedicated your life to helping and serving others, thank you.
If you know someone who has done the same, tell him/her thank you as well.
Not because it’s a special week.
Just because.

Not A Defining Moment: Just A Monday

Not A Defining Moments: Just A Monday…8.11.14

**I’m taking a break from my note series tonight because I don’t feel like thinking about how to craft one of those moments into readable words .**

It’s my last Monday of summer vacation.
I haven’t had a lazy day at the house, but I’ve been at the house all day nonetheless.
It’s been nice not having to leave.
My mom and I spent most of the day cleaning out the pantry.
We threw away some old stuff.
We bagged up some other stuff for donation.
We took inventory of the stuff that was left.
Then we cooked some of it.
We cleaned the kitchen.
We changed the vacuum cleaner bag.
I moved a dorm fridge from my room to the garage so that I could keep water and soda cold.
My mom scanned her computer for viruses.
I took a nap.
We both worked on a puzzle.
I heard the sad news about Robin Williams’ death.
I took Bullet for two walks in the rain, seeking shelter under trees to keep from getting too wet.
I watched Running Wild with Bear Grylls and really enjoyed it. His guest was Channing Tatum.
I cried while watching Master Chef.
I shook my head at a Walmart commercial that insulted the intelligence of parents.
I sat dumbfounded at American Ninja Warrior.
And…that’s about it.
Nothing overly profound.
Just a solidly good, rainy Monday for which I am grateful.

I think sometimes in life we look or wait for the defining moments—
the big moments that burn themselves in our memories or alter the course of our paths.
And while those moments are important—
I clearly think them important since I’m writing a series on mine—
I think that maybe it’s the normal, nothing overly profound days that make up life.
It’s Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays.
It’s Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays, and Sunday afternoon naps.
It’s spending time with the people we love.
It’s trying to make the most of the resources we’ve been given.
It’s doing our best at whatever we’re doing.
It’s being amazed at all the world holds and
thanking God for the opportunity to experience it.
It’s feeling sadness and joy and praying through them both—
for myself and for all those feeling the same.
It’s days like today.
And I am thankful.

Pizza Crust, Pomegranates, and Peace

Last weekend, as I was eating pear and gorgonzola pizza from Brixx Pizza, I said to my friends, speaking of the pizza’s crust, “This would be good communion bread.”

Today, as I was harvesting the fruit from a pomegranate, I thought to myself, referring to the inner structure of the fruit, “This is sort of like the Church universal: one fruit made of a bunch of smaller sections, all fundamentally the same, separated only by thin skins that allow for differences.”

One of the things that was important to my professors in divinity school was learning to think theologically. I didn’t have to learn this skill, however. It’s been part of me for as long as I can remember—this ability to see bits of God and the body of God’s people in things like pizza and pomegranates—without even trying.

Sometimes, though, when I know I should be thinking theologically, I struggle. I struggle to get beyond my passionate humanity and see where God is present in situations that seem void of good. Tuesday was one of those days.

As I sat in a room that represented everything I hate in this world—lies, betrayal, manipulation, hypocrisy, betrayal, spite, arrogance, close-minded judgment, and false humility—I had to work hard to think theologically because all I wanted to do was shoot daggers at the people who were trying to hurt a dear friend.

I employed all of the theological strategies that I knew. I recited memory verses. I prayed with words. I prayed with breath. I prayed with my body. I said flash prayers for everyone I saw. I named my thoughts. I named my emotions. I embraced silence. I embraced lack of technology. I imagined where Jesus would be if he were there. I didn’t know if he’d be with me or other people who had been called to the room or with my friend or her family or the people who were trying to hurt them. I finally decided that he would have been walking around making sure everyone was okay—delivering water and snacks and smiles as needed.

At the end of the day, when hurt had prevailed, I found myself saying, “God, where were you in this? Aren’t you the God of justice and truth? Aren’t you the God of righteousness and redemption? Aren’t you the God of unity and humility? I don’t understand all of this. I don’t understand it at all.”

And I didn’t. And I don’t. Yet I know that God was there. And I know that God is here. And I know it because of this:

“Peace is not the absence of conflict and struggle in our lives. Peace is the incredible presence of Love.”

And love was there.
And love is here.
And love will hold each and every one of us.
On days like Tuesday.
On days like today’s Thanksgiving Day.
In pizza crust, in pomegranates, in peace.
The incredible presence of Love is here.
And I am so theologically-thinking grateful.